Temporary Home
by FairyTale87
Summary: Based on 2x12. After all of my running, I'm finally coming Home. Rose centric, with some D/R, and of course, Damon and Elena.


_Is this my life I'm wondering__? __It happened so fast__, __how do I turn this thing around?__Is this the bed I chose to make?__Its greener pastures I'm thinking about;__wide open spaces far away__. __All I want is the wind in my hair__. __To face the fear but, not feel scared._

As I lay in bed, the throbbing pain of my body is a constant reminder that I'm slowly dwindling to nothing. It is an odd feeling, after roughly 560 years of being basically indestructible. I have never before had the luxury of looking back on life, as its end draws nearer. To look back, and question what I even did worthwhile in my life. So many years were wasted on darkness, misery, and death. Glancing back into my melancholy past, the two prominent memories are killing and staring longingly at the sun, wishing I could be out in it. This truth is sad, really, as I ponder it. It is at this point in my thought process where I begin to wish that I could go back in time and redeem my life; make it worth the 560 years I spent living it. But alas, that is impossible. All I can do now is remember the good things about my life. As my demise crawls closer, the only thing I can think about is home. Selasta- 30 kilometers south of London; all fields and trees and horses; it was my favorite place to come as a girl. _As a girl_. The thought is quite ethereal. The innocence, the peace, the happiness; I miss it; terribly. I wish to have the wind blowing through my hair as I sprint across an emerald field and the golden sun beat down on me. For too long, I have been jaded and cold; too long has bleakness consumed my life. I have programmed myself to no longer feel the blitheness and innocence of being young and human, to the point where I almost fear it.

_Well, maybe there's a god above.__But all I've ever learned from love__was how to shoot somebody who outdrew you.__It's not a cry that you hear at night__; it's__ not somebody who's seen the light__; it's__ a cold and it's a broken hallelujah._

Love, is an even larger fear that I have. Love is unstable; painful; and above all, lethal. It's like a gun; and being in love is similar to a draw. It's a frantic race between the two parties to pull the gun on the other, before their 'opponent' can shoot them down first. Well, I've gotten 'shot' numerous times, but have learned to 'shoot' back. I cannot even begin to count how many hateful words as painful as a bullet to the heart that I have spat out to a lover. As my body and mind continue to deteriorate, I can't help but feel remorse about this. Instead of relishing the love I was so luckily given, I tore it apart. I was too cautious and afraid of it. I kept thinking I was doing this because that was trait of a vampire; dismiss all petty human feelings, including love. But every time I cut a lover down, I still felt the pain; the guilt; the longing to bring them back into my arms. It took me many centuries, but I finally figured out that vampires still feel everything. That realization may be the only good thing I figured out in my long, and to an extent, useless life. The pain I feel in my heart as I think this is just as brutal as my physical pain. I have chills so awful, I feel as if I'm in negative 35 degree weather. My limbs ache as if they have just been yanked from the bone, pulled apart like Taffy, and then sadistically shoved back into my body. My stomach is in agonizing hurt, as if someone is wringing it like a wet rag, whilst clouting it with the illusion that I am a punching bag. As I lay here paralyzed in agonizing pain, the cynicism overcomes me. My world is nothing but a cold and broken hallelujah; there is no prayer left for me.

_Baby I've been here before__. __I've seen this room and I've walked this floor.__I used to live alone before I knew you__  
-_

"Rose," I hear Damon whisper as he appears in the doorway. I slowly turn in the bed to face him, being careful of my uneasy stomach.

"Come in," I say hoarsely. I cringe as the words come out of my parched mouth. I should not be this weak. Damon gives me a sympathetic nod, seeming to share my thoughts.

"I come baring gifts," he jokes as he walks into the room. I raise my eyebrow at this. From behind his back, he pulls a glass full of red, luscious, delectable blood. He hands it to me, and I accept it, and eagerly gulp it down. Momentarily, the blood relieves my pain; but ever too swiftly, the pain comes violently rushing back. Trying to dismiss the all too normal hurt, I ask:

"What's in your other hand?" I gesture towards his left arm, which is still securely placed behind his back.

"Oh," he replies distantly, "it's a wet rag. I thought you could use a little relief from your fever." He goes on to sit lightly on the bed next to me. The feeling of his body against mine is comforting. It allows me to remember that I am not alone in this world anymore; I will not die abandoned.

"Damon," I begin, "you're too nice to me."

"No, I'm not," he replies bleakly. "It's my fault you're even in this situation. I never wanted to hurt you, Rose." He sighs sadly, and then places the wonderfully cold rag on my smoldering forehead.

"It's not your fault," I counter lightly. "It was a case of being in the wrong place at the wrong time. Even if it had been your fault, you made it up with being so kind to me. Damon, when you found me, I was lost, and basically alone. These past few days I have been here, have been the most comforting I have had in a while. So, please, do not even begin to think that you're at fault." I weakly place my hand on top of his. He looks at me forlornly before putting his free hand on mine. Taking his thumb, he lightly begins to stroke my shaking hand.

"Okay," he replies quietly. For some reason, his response hits me hard. It is responses like that, that usually come about when people are obeying a dying person's words. At this thought, I take in a breath and let it out shakily. I go on to look at Damon. What I am doing, I am not too sure. Searching his eyes for his emotions? Silently begging him to do something to lull my pain? I suppose it's a mixture of both.

"What is it?" He asks me, scrunching his eyebrows together slightly; almost as if he is worried. I look at him momentarily before replying:

"Damon, can you just hold me?"

"Yeah," he whispers. Getting up, he walks to the other side of the bed, and slides in next to me, propping my torso on his chest. I cuddle deeply into his soft cotton shirt. I feel his hand come up to my head delicately, and he removes the rag from my forehead. After lightly placing it on the unoccupied part of the bed, he lightly rests his head on mine and begins to stroke my hair. His movements are like a lullaby to me. Damon begins to rock me back and forth calmly, causing my eyes to close heavily in content. His soft breathing is the final straw, and before I can resist, I am asleep.

_I've been treated so wrong__, __I've been treated so long__; __as if I'm becoming untouchable.__I'm the slow dying flower__, __in the frost killing hour;__sweet turning sour and untouchable.__Well, content loves the silence__. __It thrives in the dark;__with fine winding tendrils__that strangle the heart.__  
__They say that promises sweeten the blow…_

Much to my dismay, I am violently shaken awake by a coughing attack. It is a dry, torturous cough. There is nothing in my body in desperate need to come out, yet my body keeps thrashing out in these dire coughing spasms. Damon is quick to react. Sitting me upright, he reaches behind me for the glass on the nightstand. There is a sip or two left of blood in it, and he hands it to me. Taking the glass, I put it to my lips, and wait for the pause between coughs before knocking the liquid back. It momentarily freezes the agony, but before I can get too used to it, the cough comes raging back. I begin to violently thrash back and forth, almost to tears.

"Make it stop!" I beg, as the tears finally pour from my eyes. Damon's response it to pull me back into him, while lightly putting his hand on my head and directing it to his chest. I continue to cough dryly and painfully, the tears falling even faster. Damon pulls me closer to him protectively, and quietly beings to 'shh' me, while starting to rock me once more. After about another three agonizing minutes of coughing, it finally ceases. I take in a breath of relief, and dig my head father into Damon's chest, in relief. Curling my legs so my knees are to my chest, I close my eyes once more. A silent prayer races through my mind, that I may have a peaceful sleep.

"I promise I'll make it stop," Damon whispers gently into my ear, in my last moments of consciousness.

_After all of my running,__I'm finally coming__Home.__  
__The world tried to break me;__I found a road to take me__Home.__  
__There ain't nothing but a blue sky now.__After all of my running__,__I'm finally coming__  
__Home_

_I feel the sun beating down upon my body. Its warmth makes my body tingle in delight. After so long of not being able it walk in its glory, the feeling of toddling in the sun is quite surreal. Panning the scenery around me with no longer tired eyes, I am met with an emerald field, surrounded by trees in changing phases. Vibrant oranges and reds and yellows fill the trees, and they glow against the bright sun. My eyes stop, when I see a black figure a little down yonder. Feeling oddly blithe, I run down the hill freely, relishing in the feeling of having the warm wind rushing through my hair. As I get closer to the figure, I realize that I know him. _

"_Damon," I say with a smile, "how did you know?" How did Damon know that this was my home? The one place I've been longing to go to?_

"_Call it a lucky guess," he says with a small smile. Knowing he won't provide me with any more detail on the matter, I inquire:_

"_Am I dreaming?" As I ask it, I plop down next to him. He doesn't provide me with an answer, but I see the response 'yes' floating in his cobalt eyes. _

"_Thank you," I whisper, laying my head on his shoulder. He gives me a curious look, so I continue, "The pain's gone." _

"_I'm glad," he says gently. _

"_And," I continue on, "I'm not afraid anymore." I say it almost bewilderedly. Damon pulls me in closer and squeezes my arm in reply. Turning to him, I say gaily:_

"_Let's race!" I jump up in excitement. Damon supplies me with a smile, and gets up himself. _

"_Well, I'm winning," he says. _

"_Oh, no. I'm centuries older than you!" I reply playfully, with a wide smile set comfortably on my face. _

"_That may be, but this is my dream. Who knows, I may rig it," he counters with a mischievous smile. Broadening my smile even farther, I say:_

"_One," I look at him playfully, "Two…"_

"Three," I hear Damon whisper, as he plunges a stake through my heart. A sharp gasp exits my mouth, before the world goes cold.

_This is my temporary home,__it's not where I belong;__windows and rooms that I'm passing through.__  
__This was just a stop, on the way to where I'm going.__  
__I'm not afraid because I know, this was__my temporary home._

Before I even have time to process what just happened, I find myself looking down upon Damon. His body is frozen, it seems. His hands are wrapped tightly around the handle of the stake that is still in my chest. His face is cold as stone, but tears are falling freely. It's heartbreaking, seeing his usually vibrant cobalt eyes so bleak and hopeless. Damon is sad about my death. The Damon, who is usually so dismissive and nonchalant about feelings, is mourning my death. _My death. _The thought is so odd. I lived for such a long time; I had totally pushed the prospect of my death to the side. My suffering was finally over. My overly exaggerated running away could now finally cease. I felt a large burden lift from my shoulders. When l brought my attention back to Damon, I saw him walking to Elena, in the parlor.

"Rose?" She asked quietly.

"No," he replied hoarsely.

"Damon, I'm so sorry. But there was nothing more you could do for her."

"There had to be," he muttered in reply, shaking his head.

"You feel," she said simply. She didn't have to specify to what, though, for it was a given fact: regret, remorse, pain; for my death.

"Of course I feel, Elena, and it _sucks. _Want to know what else sucks? That it should have been _me,_" he finished, as his voice cracked slightly.

"Damon," she whispered empathetically. I gazed at the look in her eyes. She knew the pain of guilt for a loved one's death. Biting her lip slightly, she leaned up and embraced him. Damon stood as still as a brick wall, his eyes glistening with tears once more.

"I miss it Elena" he said distantly, "I miss being human. I miss it every fucking day. I can't be what the world wants me to be; what _you _want me to be. Oh, god, Elena, it should have been me." His voice finally broke and tears started streaming down his cheeks.

"No," she whispered, "no. Though I'm not pleased Rose died, I'm relieved it wasn't you. I need you, Damon. I may not show it, but it's the truth. And Damon, you're the most human of all people I've met. Humans aren't perfect, yet we redeem ourselves with our good qualities. That's you," she finished in a whisper, giving him one last tight squeeze, before releasing him from her embrace. I smiled down on them. If there was one thing I had to be proud of, it would be that in the short time I had been in Damon and Elena's life, I had brought them together. Damon needed her, and Elena needed him. With one final sigh of happiness, I knew my work was done in my temporary home of planet earth.

~Okay, so this was a one-shot that I felt I just had to do. Though I was never a big fan of Rose, Thursday's episode hit me hard; like I legitimately cried. So, I hope I did 2x12 the justice it deserves! **Oh, and please tell me your thoughts on this! **Since this is kind of a new structure of a one-shot, I want to know what you think of it.

**Remember, reviews are love, people! ;)**


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